


An Uneasy Companionship

by entangledwood (Eryn)



Series: Lost and Found [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Spoilers for Episode: c02e120
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/entangledwood
Summary: Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 120 ahead......After the Tombtakers catch up to the Might Nein Lucien requires a bit more solid proof of their...dedication to his cause. Fjord volunteers and gets more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Lucien/Fjord
Series: Lost and Found [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101455
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	An Uneasy Companionship

"And now we found you," Lucien says with a pleased grin. Fjord isn't the only one who gets it, but he's definitely the first. He can feel his breath hitch for a moment, heart in his throat as he considers.

"Any volunteers?" Lucien asks pleasantly, rummaging through his pack with the hand not holding his scimitar.

The collar he pulls out is simple leather. Much softer looking than the metal from the Folding Halls of Halas. Also less sturdy than what the Iron Shepherds put on him. Fjord pushes the memory deep even as he gets to his feet. "I'll do it," he says firmly, before anyone else gets any ideas. There's some grumbling, some worry, but he isn't the same person he was back then. Just like Lucien is no longer the Molly they lost on the road to get him back. He has to tread carefully to get through the others over to where Lucien is sitting. It's cold, the frigid air biting at his skin, hairs standing on end as if that could keep him warm. He didn't sleep in his coat, but there's no time for delay, not if he wants to prevent anyone else from volunteering.

Lucien just sits and watches him, a pleasant expression on his face, that morphs into deep satisfaction when Fjord goes to his knees in front of him. "Hmm, well trained already," he purrs and strokes a warm hand over Fjord's bare neck. Tieflings run hotter than the average person.

Fjord bites the inside of his cheek to keep quiet and lets himself be touched. The Shepherds used to do this on the road, pull one of them out of the cage and teach them how to kneel without flinching, even when Lorenzo pulled their hair or grabbed their...well grabbed them wherever he pleased. Fjord's hands are pressed flat against his thighs and he reminds himself that it would be a matter of thinking of it with purpose and he would have the Star Razor in hand. He isn't a helpless victim, and Lorenzo has long rotted away.

All the same he takes a deep breath when Lucien brings the collar up, expanding his chest, filling his throat with air, everything he can so when the icy buckle presses into his skin it will sit more loosely on an exhale. It's a cheap trick, and the buckle isn't actually cold. Lucien must have warmed it in his hand before fastening it. Fjord exhales in a rush, and pretends the shivering is from the cold and not the feeling of a collar sitting snug around his neck like a comforting caress.

Lucien strokes his neck for another few moments, just to show he can, just to give Fjord enough time for it to go from necessary to indulgent. All so he has to consciously decided to accept it. And to decide if he will take it happily or endure it. In the end the cold on his back wins out and he lets himself sink into the touch just a little. Lucien rewards him with a few more firms strokes of his warm hands all over Fjord's neck, while Fjord grits his teeth and tries not to let it matter.

"Well done," Lucien finally tells him and sits back in the snow with a toothy grin. "Go get a bit more rest. And bundle up, I wouldn't want you to get a cold."

"Yes, sir," Fjord feels compelled to return. He pretends its a throwback to his sailor days, where verbal confirmation of orders received was necessary for everyone's safety. He knows it's not a compulsion, there was no runes in the collar, he didn't feel any magic settle. He doesn't let himself examine where it came from any more closely. Instead he gets up and pats the snow off of his pants before he turns around to head back into the snow and ice covered camp.

The others are watching, some with worry in their eyes and some with pity, but Beau is the only one who says something directly, hidden between the curses about wet parchment and cold blankets. "You alright?"

Fjord shoots her a look over his own wet bedroll and nods. "Well enough," he returns, because it's really the only thing he can say. "I'll be better once we've warmed up again."

Beau gives him a long look, but ultimately she trusts him and his self assessment. Another reminder of how far they've come from the last time Fjord wore a collar in front of his friends. "Alright then." She gives a nod and adds a little louder, holding up a bundle of papers. "Caleb, think you can get a fire going? I need to dry these before they turn completely illegible."

***

They are walking through the snow and ice, Dagon in the lead, them in the middle and the Tomb Takers around them. Fjord is the only one wearing a collar...for the moment. But he can see the subtle posturing going on. Beau especially is bristling at anything that even vaguely smells of authority, while Caleb falls back into his old habit of making himself as unassuming as possible, not worthy of a second glance. Veth and Caduceus are taking it a bit better, scuttling around the party and making pleasant conversion respectively. Jester mostly dares anyone to get close enough with her posture alone. There is something intimidating about her, her beauty and her cunning, a subtle something of her worship of the Traveler that lingers around her. Fjord is sure none of the Tombtakers would be even vaguely equipped to deal with the agent of chaos that is Jester Lavorre, and they all seem to see it as well and keep their distance in return.

Things are tense, and Fjord keeps to the rear to keep a good eye on everyone. He also looks out into the wild, keeping his guard up, but there's no danger lurking in the wilderness they pass. No, the only danger is already right in their midst, roaming among them, falling back every once in a while to walk next to Fjord, a subtle assertion of ownership.

After they had broken camp Lucien had spend a short while walking with Fjord, one hand at the small of Fjord's back as he detailed the rules he expected Fjord to adhere to. Follow my orders. Be respectful to me, and by extension the Tombtakers. Don't try to trick me. Don't stray from the group. If I come within ten feet acknowledge my presence.

"Sir," Fjord murmurs, loud enough that Lucien will hear, but quiet enough that it hopefully won't carry.

"Fjord," Lucien returns easily. "Everything alright back here?" He sounds...not exactly worried, but definitely interested. This is more than just an idle question.

"Yes, sir," Fjord agrees, like he did the last fifteen times Lucien let himself fall back to pester him. "Nothing but ice and snow in all directions."

Lucien nods and reaches up to slip his hand underneath Fjord's scarf, running his hot palm over the collar. A not so subtle reminder of its presence, as if Fjord could forget it. But at least his hand is warm on Fjord's skin. "Very good. Keep your eyes open," Lucien instructs him, again, before heading on up into the group, leaving him with a sigle warm palmprint on the back of his neck.

***

"And where do you think you're going?" Lucien calls out.

Fjord freezes mid step and turns around. He's barely taken three steps away from their mid-day camp, headed in the vague direction others have already gone and returned. Fjord figures it should be obvious, and after Caleb went and returned completely unremarked he had thought it would be save. Apparently not. Everyone is watching now, though the Tombtakers are watching him expectantly while the Nein are watching Lucien incredulously. Lucien for his part looks two parts serious and one part smug.

"I'm going to relieve myself," Fjord says, aiming for placid and coming out tense. "Unless you'd rather I do it here, sir."

A clear challenge delivered with an inquisitive tilt of his head. Something that Lucien can't leave unanswered. But as Fjord had hoped for, he's going to answer it privately. Lucien pushes to his feet and waves him on. "Oh no, go ahead," he agrees and steps closer. "I will just come along and make sure you don't stray."

"Yes, sir," Fjord grits out and very firmly doesn't stomp along the path the others left. He wants this, after all, wants to find the edges of the orders he's been given, the length of the invisible leash he's allowed Lucien to tie around his throat.

The path leads him to a patch of half-melted yellow snow behind a large boulder. Fjord keeps himself relaxed, even when he hears Lucien step up behind him. He undoes his pants quickly, no need to be out in the ice longer than necessary. Peeing with someone all but plastered to his back is not Fjord's favorite thing to do, so he gets through it as quickly as possible. Just when he's about to tuck himself back in though, Lucien's voice stops him.

"Sir?" Fjord asks, throat dry.

"I said put your hands behind your back," Lucien repeats sternly.

Fjord swallows hard, feels the line of the collar press into his throat and does as he's told. It pretty much presses his hands into the front of Lucien's coat, snow encrusted fur and cold leather. He isn't surprised when Lucien takes hold of his wrists.

"Very good," Lucien praises. "Now, I figured it was time that I made something clear." Lucien's unoccupied hand begins stroking over Fjord's side firmly, sliding over his coat and around to his stomach. Not touching his cock, not yet. "When I told you not to stray, I meant don't get out of my sight, not even to piss," Lucien's voice is like ice, hard and sharp, but the hand that slides down to wrap around Fjord's dick is as warm as it's been every time it touched him today. "And when I told you to follow my orders, that included this as well." Lucien drags his hand along Fjord's cock, sqeezing just enough for pleasant stimulation.

"You belong to me now, Fjord." Lucien's voice is hot in Fjord's ear and he presses forward enough to trap Fjord between him and the cold boulder. "You gave yourself to me. You volunteered to feel my collar on you, to feel my hands on you."

Fjord can't help but groan, both at the words and the way Lucien is working his cock. The air is frigid, but everything Lucien touches is warm, leading to a horribly wonderful mix of sensation.

"Your body is mine, your pleasure is mine. And if you misbehave, your pain will be mine as well," Lucien goes on, a low dark litany of all he could do to Fjord if he so desired.

Fjord just lets it wash over him, trying not to listen too close to what Lucien is saying. He can't help moaning against the stone whenever Lucien does something especially good though, or when he hits on a fantasy Fjord has had before. He starts rocking his hips into Lucien's hand, lets himself enjoy the touch and the heat and the feeling of Lucien trapping him in place.

"Now be a good boy and come for me," Lucien orders and Fjord doesn't need more than another two strokes before his orgasm rolls through him, splattering come against the rock in front of him. Fjord flushes as he realized that whoever goes to relieve himself next will be able to spot the evidence of their little scene.

Lucien had already stepped back, though he hadn't left yet. No, he is keeping Fjord in sight as he takes a moment to collect himself, to calm his racing heart and convince himself that he can move his arms again. He pushed away from the boulder slowly, rolling his shoulders and trying not to look at the mess as he tucks himself in.

He turns around and flushes at the sight of Lucien, eyes glittering with heat, leisurely licking his palm clean. A glance down confirms the bulge in Lucien's pants, and for a moment Fjord is torn between offering something and keeping a shred of control. He is still contemplating it when Lucien takes the choice out of his hand again.

"You can take care of it later," Lucien tells him easily, only to correct himself a half second later, a feral grin on his lips. "No, you will take care of it. But we have dawdled long enough. We need to get going. Come along, Fjord."

"Yes, sir," Fjord bites out and stalks after Lucien, praying to Melora that at least they weren't overheard.

***

Fjord isn't surprised to find himself separated from the rest of the Nein as they made camp. He also isn't surprised to be ordered to kneel in the middle of what is going to be the Tombtaker's campsite, next to Lucien. He is just glad he has taken to meditating with Caduceus. It meant he can hold the position reasonably comfortable for a while, and it means he can keep calm even while the Tombtakers set up camp around him.

It's a well rehearsed play, where everyone knows their roles, and talking is kept to a minimum until they have set up camp. Fjord just kneels where he's been told and watches everyone intently. If he has to be separated from the rest of the party the least he can do is gather as much information as he can. It will be less that Caduceus or Beau might notice, but it will be more intel than they had before. The most obvious thing to notice though, is that Lucien's role in setting up the camp pretty much begins and ends with picking out the campsite and choosing a place to sit. Like moths around a flame the remaining Tombtakers move around him, lighting a fire, building some half-walls to keep the wind at bay, starting in on dinner preparations.

All the while Lucien sits at the center and absently pets Fjord. He also keeps the fire going, but that seems more like an afterthought to him. Fjord is somewhat distracted by the warm hand running through his hair though, stroking over his shoulders, slipping under his scarf to stroke along the collar. It feels good, horribly soothing and affectionate, and Fjord lets himself relax into it by degrees. What good is there, after all, in making this a fight? They will fight soon enough, and for higher stakes than whether or not Fjord can endure some light petting in front of a disinterested audience.

By the time food is prepared Fjord has sunk in on himself a bit, slumping subtly towards Lucien and the warmth of his touch, eyes half closed in relaxation. If the Tombtakers weren't so quiet Fjord could almost pretend he was with his friends. But they are, so Fjord has a constant reminder that he needs to keep some of his wits about him, no matter how comfortable Lucien's touch is.

Cree is ladling out food, passing bowls around to the Tombtakers, Lucien first and then going around the circle. Fjord wonders if he'll be passed over entirely. He hasn't done anything to help with setting up camp after all. You don't work, you don't eat, is a familiar refrain in the back of his mind. It sure seems like it. Cree is sitting back with her own bowl and everyone is digging into their share, leaving Fjord empty handed. Lucien has shifted himself a bit, so that Fjord can lean against his side while he eats, but he's making no move to offer Fjord any of it. It looks like stew, not the fancy kind the tower provides, it's closer to the hearty meal Caduceus will prepare when he has the time. Fjord's stomach growls, and he flushes when Lucien chuckles against his ear. 

"Don't worry. You'll get your share," he promises. "You just need to be patient."

Fjord nods and does his best not to think about what his share might be, or what he might have to do to earn it. Lucien's voice has been carefree, without insinuation, but that doesn't mean anything. The tiefling has more than proven that he can keep his voice calm and reasonable in the most trying circumstances. There is no reason he can't do it here as well. 

"Yes, sir," Fjord murmurs and tries to ignore the rumbling of his stomach and the rich smell of the stew. He tries to distract himself by listening out into the night, hoping to pick up some sounds from the other camp, just to remind himself that the Nein haven't abandoned him to his fate. At least not any more than he wants them to. He can't hear anything past the sound of the wind and the eating going on around him.

Patience, he reminds himself when Cree goes for a second helping, worrying his lip between tusk and teeth at the sound of the ladle against the inside of the pot. It doesn't sound empty, not yet, Fjord has plenty experience identifying that sound. But there are four more who might go for another bowl of stew and the pot isn't limitless. He has some rations in his pack, maybe he should go and fetch some. Before he can decide to get up Lucien shifts against his side though and pushes his empty bowl into Fjord's hands. "Go on," he prompts. "Get yourself some food."

Fjord looks down at the scraped clean bowl and the spoon Lucien had in his mouth not five minutes ago. Briefly he considers his own clean unused cutlery, sitting right at the top of his pack, but he is sure Lucien won't permit it. "Thank you, sir," he settles on, aiming for flattery though it likely comes out more flat if Lucien's chuckle is any indication. Fjord's stomach growls again so he stepped up to the pot and carefully scraped a helping into his bowl. It's the last of it, most of the meat picked out and likely over-spiced, but it'll fill his stomach all the same. Fjord takes the pot off the flame and then stands there like a fool because he isn't part of this dance. He doesn't know where the pot is meant to go now. Cree takes pity on him, getting up with a snort and taking the pot from him.

"Thank you, ma'am," Fjord murmurs, mindful of Lucien's earlier instructions. She just shoos him off, so Fjord retreats back to kneel at Lucien's side. He bites his lip at Lucien's pleased smirk, and doesn't fight it when Lucien pulls him close once more, petting his neck all through the meal.

He is the last to finish, by virtue of being the last to start, but no one comments on it. They chat idly and make no attempt to include him in conversation. When he's done, Cree collects the bowl without comment, passing it to Zoran who's doing the washing. Fjord has a brief moment to wonder what's next before Lucien pushes himself to his feet. Fjord considers staying where he is, but Lucien reaches down, hooks two fingers into the collar and just starts walking off. Fjord scrambles to his feet, trying to ignore the snickering behind him as Lucien tugs him out of their shelter into the frigid night air. He can't see the other camp, wonders briefly if Caleb put up the dome or if they're in the tower, not that it has any bearing on his own circumstance. He goes where he is led, as straight-backed as the fingers in the collar will allow, neck freezing where Lucien's hand makes room for cold air to sneak in.

They end up at the designated latrine and Fjord stands there awkwardly as Lucien relieves himself. Lucien glances over at him expectantly and sighs when Fjord just looks back confused. "Unless you think you can hold out till morning I suggest you take care of business. Cree will have your hide if you piss in the camp, and I'll tan your hide if you sneak out before dawn."

Right. No straying from the group. And no pissing where the tabaxi has to smell it. Never mind that he doesn't actually need to pee just yet. "Yes, sir," he grits out and takes care of business. He is tense all over, both from the cold and from wondering what Lucien is going to do to him. But there's no heated touch on him until he's tucked in again, and even then it only wraps around his wrist to drag him back into the camp.

Things have shifted around in their absence, everyone huddling into their bedrolls for warmth, as close to the dwindling fire as they can get. Fjord would love to do the same. Someone even spread out his bedroll for him. Only its spread out right beside Lucien's bedroll. Their packs have been arranged to form a bit of a backrest and Fjord isn't surprised to see Lucien lounge back against it, tail curled to the side, legs spread just enough, arms open in invitation. Fjord would like nothing more than to play dumb, but that would just lead to explicit instructions. And sure, the rest of the Tombtakers are merely an extension of Lucien's will, but that doesn't mean they have to put on even more of a show. So he goes where he's directed, kneeling between Lucien's legs, leaning forward where Lucien's hands tug him. 

Fjord isn't surprised when it ends with his face pressed into the crotch of Lucien's cold leather pants. This isn't about mutual pleasure after all. This is about power, about finishing what Lucien started during their midday break. It makes it somewhat easier for Fjord to reach in and undo Lucien's belt. It isn't personal, he doesn't have to care. He just needs to undo Lucien's pants enough to free his cock, wet his lips, and start sucking. Lucien's hand is in his hair, carding through it, petting him absently as he works Lucien's half-hard cock free of his pants and takes it into his mouth. 

It's hot, just like all of Lucien is, hot and tasting of sweat. Unlike the Nein, the Tombtakers don't have a nine-sided Tower to retreat to for a hot bath. It doesn't matter though. This isn't about his comfort, Fjord reminds himself. No matter how much he might enjoy sucking cock. Doesn't mean he should do a bad job of it. He licks and sucks Lucien's cock, mindful of his tusks, hands massaging Lucien's thighs as he bobs his head. Above him he can hear Lucien's breath speeding up, the hand in his hair growing more purposeful as well, tugging on his strands just enough to make Fjord groan in return. He lets his eyes fall close, pushes everything from his mind that isn't the cock in his mouth and the hand in his hair. He can taste Lucien's arousal now, precome mingling with his spit, and he swallows best he can so there won't be a mess. Lucien moans, petting his hair. His hips are starting to roll as well, fucking up into Fjord's mouth leisurely. 

Fjord lets it happen, does his best to match his breathing to the pace Lucien sets and waits for the moment when the hands in his hair tighten. He let his own hands come to a rest, relaxes his throat and doesn't fight it when Lucien pushes him down all the way. It's good. Lucien is careful, yes, but sure, confident that Fjord can take it. Fjord moans around Lucien's cock, shifts his shoulders a bit to get comfortable, and lets his Lucien fuck his throat. Like this he doesn't have to do anything but keep sucking. He presses his tongue up, keeps his lips sealed, and groans whenever Lucien pulls his hair just right.

"Good boy," Lucien murmurs above. "Such a good boy. Just relax and let me fuck your throat. Yes, like that." He keeps talking, filthy praise mixing with moans of pleasure while Fjord focuses on breathing when he can and keeping his throat open until Lucien thrusts up one last time and comes down his throat. Fjord swallows it, licks at Lucien's cock as its pulled out, and pants against the leather of Lucien's pants once it's done.

He feels vaguely light headed, cock hard in his pants, and mind blank of anything but the perfect feeling of a good blowjob. He lets himself be petted some more, basking in the satisfaction of a job well done and the praise still falling from Lucien's lips. It's more languid now, more 'good boy' than 'that's a good fucktoy', and it makes it easy to forget where they are, who they are. Fjord absently closes Lucien's pants again, tucking his dick away before it can get cold, and lets himself slip from crouching on his knees to fully lying down. The pressure to his dick makes him groan, but Lucien doesn't seem all that interested in doing something about it. And Fjord would rather ride this headspace all the way into sleep than surface enough to deal with his arousal. He has no interest in facing what he just did. What he just enjoyed doing. What he will likely enjoy doing for as long as they play games with the Tombtakers. He'll have plenty of time to worry about it later. He will just have to trust that the Nein will be able to pick up the pieces once it's all said and done.


End file.
